But the Music Never Stops

I sang in the school choir from the 6th to 10 grade. Bass, Treble, half notes, quarter notes, mezzo forte, uhh decrescendo and ...Do a deer, a female deer. Yup that's about all I got. I have not sung formal pieces of music since the 10th grade so the technicality of these works are, for the most part, lost on me. I don't mind either. That is not an excuse to revel in ignorance.  I just mean that I still love these complex, transcendent pieces of wonder because they are simply complex and transcendent. What I love most about the symphony is its pure emotive nature with no words sung at all. So when pianist, Christian Zacharias stopped the music because of a cell phone interruption I just could not blame him.

When interviewed he stated that

"Music lives on something completely different than being disturbed." 

and

"We prepare all this and this is the least you can do to honor it in listening"

English syntax is bruised a bit because of his German accent but I took him real seriously because Germans don't play...around...because clearly he plays the piano...I digress.

How awkward for the the poor guy in seat 53A. You, alone, were responsible for bringing the piece de resistance to a crashing halt while ushering in the fullest most humiliating silence, ever. No wonder you couldn't slide your hand down and quiet the electronic symphony in your pocket; Sir Zacharias' glare was set to stun-mode. All because you weren't paying full attention. 

There is complex transcendent wonder all around us. The sweetest symphony you will ever hear.

"The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands. Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they reveal knowledge." 

Psalm 19:1-2

And we often do not honor it by at least listening or watching. We disturb this masterful work with busyness and our noisy requests requiring G-d to vie for our attention. But G-d is G-d and he has nothing to prove. He won't roll over and sit. He won't give signs and wonders just for ooo's and ahhh's  and He won't ever stop being G-d. He can't. 

The music won't stop even when you are distracted.
Because we are a part of the song.
You are not a disturbance to the work of G-d but you are his sweet instrument and he is ready to use you.

Silence distraction and pay attention.

And He will keep on playing. Showing you his beauty and wonder as he waits on you to join.

We're Just Warming Up~Personal Repost

There is this captivating moment just before a symphony begins where we wait with baited breath and intrigue. Murmurs and coughs settle in your ear and the wait is tangible. The silence is full like someone blowing up a balloon almost too full before it bursts. The audience palpable is comprised of people who have perused the program to the point of empty memorization. No one really knows what those Italian and German songs are.

 In all honesty most of the audience can only hold an intelligible conversation on the top Olympic Dream Team composers…you know them already...” Bach, Beethoven and Mozart ok and maybe Chopin…At best we are wannabe-connoisseurs of musical wine-tasting. We swirl the glass, sniff and examine the legs but we have no idea what rare libation we are drinking. But we read with intensity and hopeful recognition that we may be fully engaged with this temporary community. We hope that everyone with take the experience seriously. No one would dare take part and talk or laugh at an inappropriate time. This is just as much to feed the Mozart within us as it is to share love and be immersed in something pure and existential with a stranger. 

Music is a soothing dose of perfection. It is science, emotion, creativity, creation, physics, community, mathematics and language in a beautiful dance. It is a drip of what heaven stamped eternity must feel like. So, that moment before such an experience is hope-fully exhilarating. The imbecile and the guru both become servants of the inexplicable. The complexity of music teases all of our senses. If you aren’t fully consumed by it then your soul cannot be freed to sing. As we stand on the music precipice of melody that moment before the dive is quietly wondrous and necessary. It whets the appetite…but the warm-up can be confusing. Instruments and notes alike bicker in a cacophony of fine tuning. Violins, then saxophones, the obo wants in on the action and won’t wait its turn…even the gentle triangle rings out of time…every part is being perfected to play its role in this great symphony but what a battering it does to the ears. The audience knows, however, that the tune will change…Oh, they’ve read the program and even in their rudimentary understanding music they know that this is not the song…not yet. Just…wait for it. In fact this hodge-podge of senseless reverberation is a part of the entire experience because the coming together is nothing short of a miracle.

Shhhhh….here he comes…the conductor. When he steps to the platform we fear not for he will tame this noise and bring….harmony yes…sweet harmony. Before it sounds you know it’s there in the fullness of the wait. Can you see it? Look close. Harmony appears at the tip of the baton and demands attention…ahhhh yes, there you are. “Tap, tap tap” That valiant stick is raised in the face of wayward echoes and when it comes down the concord flies. You didn’t get dressed up abandoning the comforts of home for no reason. This occasion is worthy of your time. The confusion, the noise…that’s not the headline for this concert…we’re just warming up.

Deep Trust

I dated a guy once because I didn't have any other options or any good reason not to. My heart wasn't really in it.

Puzzled, a close male friend of mine asked me why I dated him and my response was,

"Well, because he asked." 

There was no glimmer in my eye at the thought of him. My stomach was butterfly-free. I never even knew his middle name. 

Pretty crappy and pointless and kinda mean; I am well aware. I was going through some thangs. And I would never tell him that. I'm sure that would have really hurt him. Because I never really chose him. Fate and good timing were just on his side. Not exactly a best-selling romance novel.

In the midst of being good stewards: working, planning, tithing and saving James and I were (I was) slightly-majorly annoyed by some disappointing news. I have noticed that when disappointments come one of us is at peace and one of us is not. And we switch places. Rarely are we both swerving and sighing while throwing righteous fists of indignation in the air. Thank God. This time...it was my turn to swerve, sigh and fist pump.

James calmed me, reassuring me of everything that Minister, Reverend, Pastor, MDiv, Chaplain Mo already knows about the God who NEVER forsakes us or looses control. But I was still having a moment so he said to me...

"Well, we just have to trust God. 

That is the place where he has brought us. *chuckling* I mean, what other choice do we have?"

And I appreciate this truthful reminder from my husband, my partner in this crazy adventure but that statement was the chorus of my heart-song for God and it sounded like such a passionless tune. Trusting him because I had nothing else to do?...what a shallow example. what a sad show of faith...what a pitiful reason to trust.

James told me a story once of a family friend who is a master rescue diver. During a training he swam to the bottom of a lake and was supposed to just sit there and wait to be rescued by the trainees. He was down there so long that he took a catnap. (Seriously!) When he surfaced everyone was frantic wondering where he had been. Unbeknownst to him a huge storm blew in right after he went deep. Where he was, there was no storm. The waters were not stirring at. all. 

As much as natural bodies of water terrify me that's right where I want to be.

My husband had already gone to the depths. I could tell by the quiet resolve in his voice. He was choosing God...choosing depths...choosing trust.

When James told me the unfortunate news I could feel the winds shift and cool as the storm rolled in but I also heard God (and I mean, I heard him) say to me, "Come deep, Monique, Come deep." It took work but I turned away from the choppy surface and kicked my legs hard past the current until I got to the place where the water is easy and still so I can sit, chilled out, at the bottom of the lake with James and the Lord. 

Trusting.

Not because I have nothing better to do. Not because I am passively (passive-aggressively) waiting for another, better-feeling option. But because the thought of God gives me butterflies. Because I am in love with Jesus and I KNOW Him to be trustworthy. Because he is stronger than any foe I will ever face. Because he is the potter and I, the clay. Because saying the name of Jesus makes my heart tender. Because I am the apple of his eye. Because there is not a more peaceful place on earth than in the deep with Jesus living out the best love story the world will ever know. Because there is no better choice than to trust Him.

The Proper Balance of Estrogen and Testosterone

I talk to James about everything. If a thought crosses my mind chances are I am going to share it. I process my day with him via texts while I am at work. I call him during lunch for a mid-day vent. And when I get home I wait for my cue..."How was your day, baby?" And he always listens...reluctantly pausing a game of Candy Crush on his I-phone or putting his own conversations with best friends and family on hold.

It is no wonder that over the past few months he has been urging me to hang out with my friends. He reminds me that our home is open to them for as long as I need a good visit.

For the past 7 months after our wedding I went into hiding. I think that most people expect this from newlyweds so none of my friends pestered me when I didn't want to come out and play. They just figured that I was boo-ed up. And while I had somewhat convinced myself that all I needed was my hunnie, really I was mourning the shift my life social life had taken. My closest friends were salted everywhere from Texas to Timbuktu and James' crew is all within a 30 mile radius...Fair...Nope, just life. Pouting in isolation seemed like a reasonable response.

The month of May 2012 was the best month ever, graduation, new career, and a proposal. Then June dumped on me and the remainder my friends began to move away. Life took a break-neck turn.  I was not prepared, at all.  I had just endured one of the most intense seasons of spiritual growth and independence, trusting a special group of people with my fears, tears, mistakes and joys and next thing I know Waco seemed a little wack without my girls.

Who would paint their nails with me and Say Yes to the Dress?

Who would laugh at my inappropriate jokes and applaud my public body roll routines?

Who would call me out for having a stank attitude?...this is dangerous territory for James Hoskins and he is not even about to paint paint his nails. Our love has its limits.
However, James does love me enough to kick me out of the house for a playdate. He knows how much the women in my life mean to me. How much I NEED them. I think he has known it even more than me.

For the past year and a half I have refused to make any new friends. I just knew that I could will my old ones to return to this crazy town of Waco, TX....the NYC of the south as it is more widely known. And  for this introvert, making new friends is exhausting...but I don't have to-my old ones rock. The friendship train rolled into Waco 3 weeks ago by way of me actually rolling up my bottom lip and picking up the phone. I will be riding it at least until November. This is my thank you...

DibbyDum~thanks for sitting in my bubble with me as we "watched" our favorite Friday shows and laughed at how broke we are.
Niesha~thanks for being a safe place to share "marriage life" and for inviting me to watch my niece be blessed at church and Tracy thank you for soul-clapping to some good ole black gospel music with me.
Christina~Thank you embracing your inner public spectacle and helping me make the world feel awkward.
Morgan~Thank you for allowing me to be fully self-centered for the entire month of September AND giving me 3 cakes!!!
Melissa~You are just ridiculous and wonderful and we still make an awesome team.
Callie~I will always be your chaplain but I am so glad that we are friends and future sewing buddies!
Angie~Thank you for finding time on your way to work or during a lunch break just to chat with me for a few minutes at least once a week.
Christine~my Lil Bit thank you for guilt-tripping me whenever you are in town and just saying that you are coming over.
Monica~Thank you for your hilarious transparency and strength. You are a hero of mine.
Katelyn~Thank you for laughing at my conceited selfie texts annnnnd for having Kari and I over next month for ThanksWeen 2013...be excited. (oh and for my Foster parents).
Cara~Thank you for making a point to come see lil ole me on your way to see your family.

James~Thank you for all the ways you LOVE, ESTEEM and ACCEPT my friends whom I adore and miss dearly. Your love for them makes me feel loved because they are a reflection of who I am.

I am so grateful for these women and so many others who are with me in this amazing, different, challenging and so-fun season of life. Thank you for reminding me who I am, all the facets of me, as I explore who I am becoming as a wife and minister.

I think this SONG pretty much sums up how I feel about you all. It was the first song that popped in my head and I'm not ashamed at all. Don't judge me. I worked at BU for 3 years.

Pregnant Elephants and Thank-you cards

One year.

I read somewhere that it is socially acceptable to mail out wedding "thank-you" cards within one year of the wedding...

12 months.

I'm sorry but that is ridiculous and I am more than positive that a lazy man with a proclivity for tardiness came up with this brilliant idea. He spouted it around his unmarried friends with great confidence while serving them fried foods and alcohol. In their happy, drunken state they were easily convinced so they told their friends. This idea then started circulating around the wedding blogosphere and within a few months this ludicrous practice became "socially acceptable".

Things that take too long to happen...
           -Vanilla extract to ferment (is that the right term?) = 2 months
                -Manatees to fully gestate = 13 months and elephants  for, a faint-inducing, 22 months

                       -James David "yes I used his middle name on purpose" Hoskins to partially complete 35 pre-organized "thank you" postcards = 6 months

                  

The plan I devised was simple..."I write to my folks and you write to yours. Finish at least one each day and we can get this done in a truly socially acceptable time-frame...friends feel appreciated and the wedding event is officially a wrap." 

Kinks in my plan: It was my plan and not our plan (like that really matters)

         To-do lists and phrases including the word "wedding" are forbidden immediately upon return from the honeymoon. Utterances of either turns you into the Charlie Brown school teacher.

I sent out all of my people's thank-you's on time avoiding embarrassment and shame.  James' pile was sad from neglect and gray with dust.  My plan was disintegrating after 4 months. I had to regroup and pull out the big guns.

Guilt-trip...it never fails. I called mom and pre-vented to release what could be toxic steam. She chuckled at me, knowingly and said, "Uh yeah, let me know how that goes." 

James would return from a very long day at work to find me surrounded by his cards. It didn't end there. I wouldn't frown or fret. No. I had a smile in voice as I asked him about his day. 

When he saw me with those cards his shoulders dropped and he turned toward our room as he mumbled, "I'm sorry, baby...I let you down."

Aha!

Wait...That felt horrible. 

Abort! Abort!

Guilt trips are for mean girls, manipulative lovers, and lazy parents who lack self-confidence, not for us.

Marital tet-a-tet's occur over the most inconspicuous things like budgeting and home decor and making the bed in morning and guacamole (I'll explain in another post)  and thank you cards. This talk lasted two hours...two very necessary calm, loving, guilt-free hours where James, under no duress, agreed to conquer his pile and I agreed to trust him and relax a little.

One week later the pile, still sad and dusty, taunted me and whispered lies to me about my husband.

But I love my husband and I'm discovering that marriage is definitely not 50/50. Teamwork isn't always the answer and he is not the guy who is squealing with glee over the chance to help with thank-you cards...not sure that I would want the squealing type anyways. Sometimes he'll do more than his fair share and most of the time I'll do more (let's be honest)....(love you, baby)

"James, dear, do you want me to finish the pile?...just tell me and I won't be mad..."

He did five. I did thirty...more...of his. And it only took six months.

apparently still acceptable and

We are still doing better than the elephant.

Roses, Rainbows and Recipes

I think I am the only freak of nature who is soooo over new things. 2013 is the "Year of New" and I am ready for the Era of "Been There Done That".

I cannot tell you how many times a lovesick fifteen year old took over my mind and body as I found myself, at 30, doodling my name over and over again...before we got married...

Monique Danye` Hoskins...Monique Danye`Criddell Hoskins...Monique Hoskins...Mr. &Mrs. James Hoskins...Mrs. Monique Criddell Hoskins

and I smiled and roses and rainbows appeared and a robin perched on my windowsill and tweeted a tune.

Yeah, the process of inaugurating the "new" was not that lovely and sweet. 

Ladies, changing your name is 1. annoying and complicated and 2. quite traumatizing. 

The social security lines are just long. 

There is nothing romantic about waiting for your number to appear on a scrolling marquee in a room full of strangers...Which is why I have yet to get a new license. Don't tell James. 

Although, I don't know if I haven't visited the DMV because of inconvenience or because that 2x3 inch piece of plastic is the last shred of my former identity; plus my picture looks great...This made the blog so I am guessing it is probably the latter. I love discovering things as I type. 

I can't help but to feel that changing my name is some sort of betrayal to my family of Criddell's. My poor dad, who adores James, "forgets" my last name each time we talk. 

"Hello, Mrs. Crid errrr uhhhh, Hopps...Husk...Hoskins...yeah that's it, Hoskins."

I have a new name attached to a man other than my father who has loved, supported and cared for me for 31 years. I have a new "home" because wherever James is that is home and it actually feels like it. I have a new job that James knows more about from day to day than my family. I have a new church and new friends. I have an entirely new family...I even have a new mac and cheese casserole recipe...You don't understand just how deep things just got. This may be more crucial than my name.

This dish is more important than Thanksgiving turkey and Christmas ham. 

It is a legendary Criddell recipe.

Angels take pause to sing when the oven opens. 

And yesterday I changed the recipe to something brand new....Don't tell mom. 

 I LITERALLY had to talk myself into it. . I changed my mind a few times.

Sundays are our clean eating days because we until the plate is clean. I'm talking about the most fatty, carb-infused meals I can think to make. It's a Hoskins' House Rule. On Sundays calories don't count unless you count them. So I turned on some gospel music, took out a few sticks of butter and got to cooking. James and I melted into OUR newness. This is what Sundays would smell like for us and our future family...reeeallll buttery and warm. 

As good as the new felt and always feels, at least momentarily, I could hear my old name calling out in desperation. 

She is afraid of  being forgotten.

She is just going to have to learn that she is not being left behind. 

She can come along with all of her old recipes and family traditions.  

The old has been so good to me but I still get butterflies when I write my new name. Roses bloom on Sundays at the Hoskins' house and the robins are warming up. Rainbows appear when we kayak. And I'm pretty sure that the angels gave a celestial, slow-clap standing ovation when I opened the oven to the new mac and cheese...because it.was.good.

Gold Nugget Bride

August, something, 1999, my parents were held up at pen-point by Xavier University of Louisiana. They emptied out their bank account and left me waving them goodbye as I forced and faked wanning confidence. I was now a XULA Gold Nugget (really, why did that name get all the votes?)...and I had no idea, whatsoever, how to be a gold nugget, because, what does that even mean, first of all, and second, all I knew about college was dating (which I had yet to experience), parties (which just was not my scene) and staying up to study (ok I can do that one). Was I just supposed to become a shiny, priceless metal destined for academic success overnight or would I morph overtime somehow melding my identity into that of my new future alma mater? Fear? I didn't even know what to be afraid of. I just knew if I was going to survive I had to become a nugget and quick.

August, something (the 8th I think), 2008 I dumped my savings into first month's rent, deposits, U-haul fees and first installments at Truett Seminary. I moved into a cavernous, snow white apartment furnished by A couch, A TV and A kitchen table...I had no need for the table. I dropped every dime I earned to pick a new identity. I went from being nugget (to a Lumberjack at SFA...you get the rhythm I'm beating out) now to a Baylor Bear. Bears are awesome! Right? I mean, we are both brown so that's a start. No one told me how to be a bear but I spent some time as a nugget and a Lumberjack so I could fake it til I made it. Baylor Bears study a lot while wearing nike shorts and drinking coffee. Since I was too old to fully conform I settled for hot cocoa and Adidas. No one questions a 28 year old black woman with a faux latte.

February 16, 2013 James and I (and our parents) spun around Waco flinging checks in every direction so that James could become a husband and I could become a wife. Ok, at this point I learned my lesson. Having successfully matriculating through adolescence and dizzying individuation I knew that preparation and research were key. So after 6 months of premarital counseling and great accountability from friends we pretty much gathered the gravity of 2 becoming 1. We did the "I do, You do", danced a jig and flew to Denver.

We returned a week later to begin work on one of life's most complicated equations...1+1=1.

I was comfortable with becoming one. And as of tomorrow we have been "becoming" for 6 months.

James is a good person to become one with. He is super loving and other mushy blog stuff you've read.

We have laughed at our collection of inside jokes and kitchen-danced a whole lot.

We have argued well and grown from dissent.

The only problem is I'm still one person. I made a mistake in my days as a Gold LumberBear. Growing each year, I still lost myself a little in the collegiate song and dance.

However, I haven't lost myself in this marriage. I don't think I am supposed to, either.  I just don't know what the heck to do with myself.

So this is one of the things that I have learned (I could have done six but that is uber predictable).

I am still me, one, and that is O.K.

James and I are two, different people who compliment each other like crazy and can't get enough of each other but God still calls us by name...Our own names...Not some odd Hollywood nickname mashup like JaNique or Momes (our names clearly do not mash well). God still calls me Monique. He is still transforming Monique to be a good woman not just a good wife. He still has work for his daughter to do on her own even though James and I may partner up from time to time. We don't have to always hike together, eat at a great restaurant together or shop together. That's not what gives the marital math problem weight and meaning...we aren't disconnected and doomed for divorce if we pray separately or pour ourselves into different ministries. These TWO become ONE because these ones are becoming like Christ. That is the strange math and He is the ONE we become even while we remain TWO and I'm so glad we have a lifetime to solve this equation.